


The Legend of Zelda: Chains of Fate

by spiraljoel



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe, Basically shit gets really rough, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-atypical violence, Child Era, Fate & Destiny, Gaslamp Fantasy, Gen, Original Series Entry, Probably a few hundred years after Twilight Princess, Steampunk, Victorian Hyrule
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-02 16:35:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19445353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiraljoel/pseuds/spiraljoel
Summary: Power is a burden. Courage is a death sentence. Wisdom is a curse.Hyrule sags under its own weight of industry and division, as a petty criminal, a runaway royal heir, and a half-mad usurper are inexorably trapped in the latest iteration of a never-ending cycle of hatred and death. The divine want them to kill each other, to maintain the balance in their cruel tragedy. An infection of holy power burns painfully on them all, branded on the back of their hand, a mark of ownership in perpetuity.Destiny is their prison.Together, they will seek to be more than what the goddesses force them to be. More than a hero, more than a demon, more than a seer.Chains are made to be broken.





	1. Internment, However Brief

_Well, shit._

It wasn’t the first time he’d been apprehended, but still, this wasn’t exactly routine. Normally, his wits and his fists were enough to keep him one step ahead of the authorities -- hell, most of the time, he never even saw a brass badge from the Gendarmerie, long gone by the time they even knew something was amiss. Tonight, however, it seemed his streak had run out, and he was meant to spend the foreseeable future in one of the city’s numerous holding facilities.

It wouldn’t probably be all that long. The last two times he had been arrested, he had managed to find a way out into the streets again. The first was quiet -- finding a secure passage through the old, rotting stonework, knocking out a guardsman and nabbing his wallet just for good measure. It was actually a decent consolation prize for the week spent behind bars. The second was much messier, but still worked out in his favor -- he started a riot, and managed to slip out through the confusion.

“In, mutt.”  
  
The escorting officer tossed him forward haphazardly, letting him tumble along the rough-hewn flooring. Scraped up his hands in the process, earning a hiss of irritation and minor pain, though it was more in reaction to the slur he had been addressed with. Briefly, he tried to think of some sort of retort, before deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble. With their damn helmets you couldn’t even tell if the Gendarmerie’s grunts were commmoners or hylian anyway, so he couldn’t readily identify what to fire back with.

Did it really make sense to curse out someone’s race when you were half a part of it? Probably not, but catharsis is hard to come by in the Capitol. The place had been mired in grudges and resentment for years, and being a half-breed meant he received no sympathy from either side of its major ethnic tension.

Being a thief and a mugger didn’t help his case, but people weren’t exactly rushing to hire a ‘mutt’ for honest work, especially not one with a perpetual scowl and a diagonal scar slashing his face in two. He had had little luck with the hylian high society and the short-eared common folk alike. With no way to legally earn any Rupees, he had resigned himself to having to take what he could get, by any means necessary. It wasn’t just his own mouth he needed to feed, after all.

He hadn’t intended for things to go so far, but the fence he was trying to sell a handful of stolen gold to had opted to pay with cold steel rather than rupees. All he had done was defend himself. So what if the bastard had some fresh scars? The thief had plenty, they weren’t so bad once they healed. But he had to go and squeal...  
  


Speaking of not being alone, he had a cellmate. Short, seated on the bedroll opposite his, and wrapped head to toe in a dusty old cloak, framing their face in shadow. He didn’t really care to say hello. For all he knew, it was just a diminutive corpse.

  
“...Hm.”

  
Never mind, the corpse just grunted. A girl? No, a boy, just young. Younger than himself, anyway. The thief peered in his direction as he dusted himself off and took a haphazard seat on his own bedroll -- lumpy -- and only cocked an eyebrow in response.

“...Have we met?”

  
The thief shook his head. Not as far as he knew. The question was strange enough that it managed to rouse some curiosity, defusing some of the dismissive air about him.

  
“I see. Strange, you seem familiar.”  


The thief wondered if the stranger was someone he had mugged before, and quietly hoped that wasn’t the case. He squinted to see if he could make out any details under the cloak, but with only the dim light provided by the out-of-reach barred vent to outside the complex -- which let in a touch of snowdrift -- there wasn’t much he could see.

“So, when are we leaving?”  


_What?_

“Don’t give me that look, I know what someone looks like when they’re scheming an escape.”

Right on the money. The thief paused before nodding with some hesitation.

“Thanks for giving me leverage. Now, I want in.”

  
_Shit… fine._

The boy might be annoying, but an extra set of hands wasn’t the worst thing to have. The thief sighed and nodded again.

  
“Good! What’s your name, friend?”

  
The thief frowned, and shook his head. Better not to make any ties they didn’t need. Once they were out of here, they were going their separate ways.

  
“...Not telling, hm? Well, you can call me whatever you want. I’m not very big on titles, you see.”

_I don’t care, kid._

He didn’t say it out loud, and yet the boy could read it from his expression.

“Okay, okay, I get it, you’re all aloof and angry and you don’t have time for mouthy brats or whatever folktale archetype you’re trying to be. I’ll save the chat for later, then -- let’s talk shop.”

A small debate over their course of action ensued, finger-traced lines in the dust forming plots that were crossed out when they hit dead ends. It was almost kind of fun, in a way -- like a strategy game of some sort. The thief kept a chess set in his hideout and it made for a good time passer when he needed to lie low. The principles were similar, really, identify the weak spots and try to anticipate the unexpected.

While doing so, neither anticipated the death cry and unmistakeable _SPLACK_ of a man hitting stone and wood at a lethal velocity -- specifically, into the locked door of their cell, the impact splintering its deadbolt out of place. They stared at the dislodged mechanism for the briefest instant before turning back to each other.  
  
“That was fast.”   


_...Yeah._

“Well, an opening is an opening. We’ll improvise, yeah?”  
  
_Yeah._

They nodded in unison, and the thief was the first to stand again. He cautiously stepped towards the door, giving a light-fingered push to see if it would give, which it only barely did. The door had been unlocked, that much was certain, but it pushed back a bit, indicating there was something heavy leaned against the other side. 

The smell of too much blood hit his nostrils. Familiar, but never welcome. Whoever had been smashed into the door was in the Goddesses’ hands by now, for sure. Definitely the source of that scream.

The thief let the door fall back into place, holding a finger up to his cellmate.

_Wait a tic._

“..R-right.”  
  
The tremble in the boy’s voice indicated that, while he may have been used to jail, he was not at all accustomed to death. Or maybe he was just scared of what was on the other side. The thief’s sense of fear for danger had atrophied some time ago, leaving behind only skittish alertness. He found his nagging phobias to be more abstract, usually.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

Nothing. Not even footsteps, or the soft hiss of cheap gaslights. The silence was somehow worse than confirmation of a threat.

_...Are you ready?_

In response to the tilt of the thief’s head, the boy nodded with a gulp.

“You first, friend.”

  
_Yeah, yeah…_

The thief bit his lip before forcing the corpse out of the doorframe -- a guard, not an inmate -- and found himself in nearly pitch darkness. All the lights in the hall had been snuffed out, and it took a few scant seconds for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light.

When they did, he was faced with a nightmare.

A towering black knight stood before him, clad head to toe in strange, segmented plates of uncanny intricacy. The thief only came up to their abdomen. 

A barely-visible faint glow of deathly gold seethed quietly in between the seamlines of the armor, and a tattered dark green cloak flowed unnaturally in the windless corridor. A chill in the air followed this dark knight, and it wasn’t just the winter. A single eye socket of that same sickly golden color burned to life behind the visor slits in their helm.

The bardiche in their hand was soaked with blood. As if it wasn’t already obvious, they had found the copper’s killer.

The thief acted on instinct, ducking under an ironclad arm that swung out in an almost machinelike motion. The rush of air as the limb trailed just over his head told him that even a single impact would be fatal. He needed to escape, just needed to pick a direction and --

_The kid._

The boy was backed against the wall of the cell, finally revealing a small part of himself as dark-skinned, tattooed arms hugged against the wall behind him in mortal fright. Definitely 

not local, they weren’t from any culture -- or gang -- the thief could recognize.

_Go. Just go. He’s no one. You owe him nothing. There’s people waiting for you. Go. Go!_

The thief’s eyes darted back and forth between the boy and the knight as he tried desperately to convince himself to abandon his cellmate, failing repeatedly as his assailant took frighteningly calm steps toward him.

_...Damn it!_

He tucked and rolled under another heaving gauntlet, gritting his teeth as he felt the edge of the plated fist drag across his back and open a shallow gash in both his shirt and his skin. He had one shot.

_C’mon -- there!_

As he dove, he nabbed a short knife from a hip holster on the dead guardsman. He was on his feet in an instant, holding the standard-issue combat blade in a backhanded grip and flashing an angry scowl of determination to survive. His eyes darted to the side, and for only a moment he could see two yellow eyes wide as dinnerplates meet his gaze.

_Get out of here!_

The boy needed no further instruction. With the knight’s attention firmly on the thief, he dashed off past rows of sealed cell doors and didn’t look back.

The knight, however, did, and the thief realized that if he died here, that boy was certainly next. He would have to do the impossible and actually win.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

The thief’s knuckles whitened as his grip was painfully tight around his knife. Maybe they’ll give him a pardon if he kills this intruder and avenges the Gendarmerie’s fallen comrade.

_Well, at the very least, they’ll DEFINITELY give me one if I die._

Steeling himself, Link waited for the knight to make the next move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, finally finished this first chapter. This thing is gonna go places, I promise, so stick with me.
> 
> To anyone who's coming here from my other works: No, DMC5xP5 isn't cancelled, I'm just branching out a bit now that I'm feeling more warmed up with writing in general. Stuff should still be updated at random just like always.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the ride, cause I'm excited to take you on it. We GOIN' places.


	2. Harbinger's Introduction

The boy had only sprinted a short distance, taking cover around the corridor’s exit. It should have been a trivial run for someone of his talents, and yet he found himself desperately struggling for breath. He didn’t know if his cellmate had registered it, but to him it was unmistakable -- that walking heap of black iron and death was staring straight through the thief, its golden eye squarely on _him._ It felt like a miracle that his head hadn’t fallen off his shoulders just from _looking_ at the titan. 

The thief had spared him from whatever ill intentions the knight held. Surprising, but reaffirming in a strange way -- even a mute criminal can have some degree of heroism in them. A reflection of the spirit of good that the boy liked to believe all people carried.

It was a debt he needed to repay quickly, before he could never get the chance.

He forced more air through his lungs until he could find some semblance of readiness, and got to his feet, starting into a rapid run as soon as he was upright. His eyes keenly scanned the cobblestone and iron of hall after hall, each equally as featureless and monotonous as the previous. Here and there a cell door would be smashed open, its occupants either dead or dying. It was sickening, unlike anything he had seen before -- he had witnessed violence, but this was _slaughter_.

He cursed having to loot a shortsword from another dead guard. He would have preferred pickpocketing a living one. There was a _dirty_ feeling in stealing from the departed, but he didn’t have the luxury of choice at the moment.

The boy spun on his heels as he tucked the blade into an adjustable loop on his belt and began making his way back towards his cell. It was a thin hope the thief would even be alive at this point, but he wouldn’t let himself live knowing he abandoned his ignoble savior.

_Just one more door -- there!_

The clang of metal on stone was at once encouraging and frightening. The fight wasn’t over.

There was a loud, angry shout of aggression. It was safe to assume it was the thief’s voice, even if he never actually said anything out loud to the boy.

* * *

Link was struggling to keep up. He’d been winged a few times, and he was bleeding, but the adrenaline rush and his survival instinct kept the pain from disabling him. He would have thought he had the advantage in speed, given his assailant’s ironclad form, but the knight was deceptively and frighteningly quick, with stamina to match. They moved like the armor wasn’t even there.

He almost fell backwards as the bloodsoaked bardiche chopped a black-and-red arc through the air over him. Link managed to tuck into himself and turn it into a somersault, gaining a hair of distance that was quickly closed again. There was no room to _think_ with this beast of a warrior -- every time he made some space, the knight would close it in the blink of an eye. With his thoughts too slow, he had to fall back on instinct -- and his instincts were deadly, which is why he tried to avoid relying on them.

  
_“Hyah!”_  


Link came in low at an unexpected arc, ducking another slice and reversing the momentum of the assault as he closed in on his opponent. The knight was caught off-guard, and unable to account for the weird angle of the incoming knife. It struck true with a sickening, wet crack, slicing through bone and flesh as it slotted between the titan’s helm and collar and straight into their throat.

_Got you, you big basta-_

_  
_ _“Hngrgh!”_  


The knight’s free hand clamped around Link’s neck in response, utterly unfazed. The clawed fingers of its gauntlet dug tiny burrows into his throat like a wolf’s teeth, dripping thin trails of blood down over the black steel. The thief grunted in alarm, baring his teeth in a growing angry desperation. His knife was still sticking out of this _thing’s_ throat and it didn’t even seem to _care._

It slammed him against the wall, drawing another grunt of pain and useless fury, choking the life out of Link as the color drained from his face.

_No, no, no, no -- Can’t die now, I have shit to do -- kill you, I’ll KILL YOU, I’ll --_

Link’s sudden onset of murderous near-death mania was cut short by the first sound he had actually heard the knight vocalize since the fight began. Its voice was raspy and ethereal, and clearly inhuman, as it howled in annoyance.

The boy took a few steps back, letting go of the blade when it was too embedded in the knight’s back to pull out again. Where he expected red lifeblood to flow, instead an ichorous black fluid dripped over the stolen sword, oily and unnatural and _literally_ dripping with dark arcane power that offended the boy’s natural _and_ spiritual senses. Everything about this creature was deeply _wrong._ The chink he had spotted under its green cloak seemed more like _bait_ than an actual weakness, now.

It dropped Link, who hacked and coughed between angry curses as he slumped against the wall, and turned its eye back on the boy. He took a few more frightful steps backward before his back hit another cell’s door.

Three feet between them.

The titan ripped the knife from its throat, dropping it to the floor with a metallic clatter.

Two.

The sword was removed next, its bright steel slicked with black blood as it hit the ground.

One.

  
_“FIRE!”_  


A salvo of round shot flooded the hall with the deafening cracks of gunfire. An entire firing line had formed at the hall’s entrance, taking advantage of the knight’s preoccupation with the pair of inmates to organize their assault.

The boy dove to the ground as a hail of lead both ricocheted off and pierced through the knight’s plating, drawing more ghostly grunts of irritation. The titan crossed his arms to briefly defend before turning one towards the barred window of the pair’s cell. A burst of smoky black vapor let loose from the armor on its arm, and its hand _fired off,_ whistling through the air as a heavy chain rattled out from the knight’s wrist. When it caught something, the chain went taut before reeling in, taking the titan with it and smashing straight through the iron bars and stonework and leaving the prison behind for the labyrinthine streets of the Capitol slums.

_“CEASE FIRE!”_

The gunfire stopped, and the Gendarmerie officers lifted their rifle-spears as their commander marched forward with two guardsmen leveling their firearms at Link and the boy.

Link saw the boy’s face, his hood falling as the commander lifted off him the ground by the wrist, barking orders he couldn’t make out clearly. His face was as darkly toned as his arms, and he had bright braided red hair tied back into a short ponytail. He didn’t look like any race Link could recognize.

There was some kind of white mark on his hand that the commander seemed incensed about, but Link only had a second to dwell on it before blood loss stole his consciousness from him. The oblivion of unconsciousness was welcome at this point, and he was so tired he almost didn’t care if he ever woke up again.

  
_I hate this city._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Local good boy tries to help, gets shot at.


	3. Longterm Consequences, Bureaucratic Abuses

By Eldin’s gold-feathered  _ ass,  _ did Link’s  _ everything _ hurt. With the adrenaline gone, the full weight of the beating he had taken was settling in, and every hastily-sealed cut and gash stung like accented notes in the overture of dull soreness from getting batted about and smacked into walls. He fought through the pain to sit up, grunting and panting to fill his lungs after spending Goddesses-knew-how-long barely breathing in the shallows of blackout.

“Woah, there, friend! Easy, easy. The fight’s over -- and thanks to you, we’ve still got our heads. You’re really something with a knife, eh?”

_ Ugh, you again...? _

The boy from before, in a chair at the side of the bed Link was lain in, now with his cloak about his shoulders and no longer hidden. He was a long-ear, like the Hylians, but his skin had a dark but warm sandy tone that wasn’t common to Hyruleans -- Hylian or commoner alike, the people of the kingdom tended towards paler or darker tones than the middle ground this boy’s hide was shaded with. 

Looked like a Gerudo, but they were all supposed to be women, right? And huge, for that matter -- this boy was a runt, shorter than Link by more than a foot.

Driving his hunch home, the boy had a pendant around his neck with the Gerudo royal crest.

“Oh, bug off with that glare. You put your neck on the line to give me an out, I know you’re not the surly thug you seem set on acting like.”   
  
“You’re loud.”

Link’s voice was quiet and terse, with an obvious tone of irritation.

“Aha! You DO know how to talk! To think, all it took was a ten foot tall phantom straight out of the underworld choking the life out of you.”

“Ugh…”

The boy snickered and Link rolled his eyes in annoyance as he sank back into his cot, rubbing at the back of his hand. They must have cauterized something there, because it burned particularly badly, feeling like a hot iron was still pressing in. He grit his teeth and tried to bear with it, not wanting to look and see just how bad it actually was. He shut his eyes, hoping for another round of shuteye to take some of the edge off, but the creaking of a heavy door to the infirmary cell -- isolated for security reasons as well as possible need for quarantine in the case of an infectious inmate -- interrupted his attempt to sleep again.

An exhausted-looking Gendarmerie guardsman, helm under his arm and rifle-spear shouldered, entered first. Behind him was a Hylian official of some sort in a snow-dusted fancy long coat, looking distasteful about being escorted through the prison halls by a short-ear commoner.

“Hear ye, hear ye, now presentin’ his honorable authority Sir T.C. Edmar, an official appearin’ on behalf of the Capitol Castle City Royal Internal Ministry.”

The guardsman announced the Ministry with a similar cadence to a schoolboy being forced to read unrehearsed lines for a class play, equal parts disinterested and impatient. The boy at Link’s side finally seemed to share in his irritation at the pompous display of authority.

However, Sir Edmar unexpectedly  _ bowed  _ as soon his introduction was finished, clasping his hands together in an apologetic gesture towards the boy.   
  
“Oh, noble Prince Ganondorf, kind son of Gerudo Province, please forgive the indiscretion of our law enforcement!”

Link’s expression quickly morphed from annoyance to utter befuddlement, as he side-eyed his cellmate.

“Noble  _ what? _ ”   
  
“Ugh… your title was already bad enough, lawman, why’d you have to bring up mine?”

__ ‘Prince’ Ganondorf didn’t seem pleased about being referred to by his apparently royal designation, his expression having quickly darkened from irritation to anger. The official winced at the young prince’s hostile tone and bowed again.

“M-my apologies, your lordship -- “

“By Din’s sagging tits, just call me my name! Don’t know why they even gave it to me if no one was ever going to use it.”

“Oh, I, er -- v-very well, your -- G-Ganondorf. I -- I admire your humility, sir.”   
  


“Oh for fu-- the point, quillpusher, get to it!”

Link struggled to restrain a snicker at Ganondorf’s profanity, disguising it as a cough, which ended up hurting as much as an actual cough, but it was almost funny enough for him not to care.

“R-right! Erm, on behalf of our justice system, I have been allowed to extend you a full pardon for --”

“I already knew I was off the hook, get to the catch.”

“Um… y-yes, well. Arresting a prince of one of Hyrule’s provincial governments is a grave error and we deeply regret the hasty actions taken by our Gendarmerie police force that led to your sentencing. As a token of good faith in fixing our mistake, we would hope you handle this with an equal degree of discretion as you make your return to your home estate.”

Ganondorf chewed on the words for a moment before cracking a mischievous smirk.   
  
“Oh.  _ Ohhhhh.  _ I understand completely, ‘Sir Edmar.’ Really, I do.”

“Oh?! Th-that’s most excellent, Gan--”

“I’m just blueblooded enough that I’m allowed to run around stealing and shivving who I like as long as I keep my royal badge out while I do it, eh? Wouldn’t want me running home to mommy, telling on the naughty-naughty coppers who were just  _ so mean  _ to me.”

The Ministry-man’s relief was slapped off of him, while the Gendarmerie guardsman behind him raised a curious eyebrow. Link gave Ganondorf a surprised look, not expecting such disdain for authority from a self-professed blueblood. After all, he wasn’t any fan of nobility himself.

“Uh… th-that would be one way to put it, sir, but I didn’t intend --”

“Well, you know, I  _ could  _ go and tattle on you. It’s been such a  _ bore  _ waiting around for you to start a civil war over the shape of your damned  _ ears,  _ we could just declare sovereignty and cut off your oil supply so you have something meaningful to kill each other over.”

“S-sir, please, there’s n-no need for such -- !”

“Tell me this man’s name.”

The terrified Hylian looked about ready to disappear under his starched collar and ruffled ascot, but his panic was undercut by sudden confusion as Ganondorf pointed to the half-blood at his side. Link cocked an eyebrow at the prince, curious what his game was.

“Wh-what?”

“The chatty one who I was sharing a cell with before that black-iron boor came to visit. What’s his name?”

“O-oh, it’s… um…"

__ The official swiveled his neck towards his escort, expression turning to angry desperation as he addressed the guardsman in a harsh whisper.

“Officer, tell me this filthy mutt’s name before this royal brat starts a border crisis!”

The guardsman seemed amused by the official’s panic, and turned his attention back to Link, smirking and receiving a scowl from the thief in return.

“His name’s Link, sir. No family name. Known thief, robber, an’ con man, an’ he’s suspected as havin’ injured or killed several officers durin’ the incident last night. S’currently bein’ processed for execution or life sentencin’.”

Link’s eyes went wide with shock and anger, and he started to struggle to get up, clashing against the searing pain of his injuries before Ganondorf softly pressed his hand on the thief’s shoulder. He had a confident expression, though free from his previous impishness.

“That’s complete crap, ‘officer.’ You have my  _ word  _ as Gerudo Province’s heir -- Link saved my life, and likely many of your officers as well, by engaging your intruder in  _ combat,  _ with his damned bare hands, no less. I’ll go quietly, but only if you offer him a pardon as well.”

The anger drained from Link’s features, replaced with surprise. The prince wasn’t just defending him, he was exaggerating the story to make the thief sound heroic. The guardsman, surprisingly, didn’t seem angered by the contradiction to his charges, though the same didn’t hold true for Sir Edmar, who ran through a full spectrum of visible confusion and internal conflict before finally nodding despite his prejudices telling him to put the mutt to the sword.

“I… I don’t think I can manage that, I’m afraid. He is a repeat offender, correct, officer?”

“Aye, sir. Slipped loose out of a couple different brigs over the years.”

“Thus we can’t expect him to suddenly become an honest citizen… with all the due respect in the  _ world,  _ your hi-- Ganondorf, I can’t fulfill that request.”

“You want to talk to my people’s high court about calling me a ‘royal brat,’ then?”

“Y-you heard--?!”

“I did. You know, they haven’t found a  _ voe  _ like you innocent in  _ decades.  _ Head on a pike for treason for sure -- after all, it’d take ten minutes to convince them this entire mess was  _ your  _ fault.”

The Ministry official’s last hint of nerve snapped in two, his face draining of all color as he felt a damp warmth in his trousers.

“N-n-n-n-no, please, young sir, I -- I can give him penal service! Five years in his majesty’s employ under the watch of an Arbiter! He’s a free man after that, w-with a pension if he earns it! It’s all I can do, I swear!”

Ganondorf mulled over the proposition as Link’s brow furrowed. Penal service usually meant suicide missions and dirty business, neither of which he could afford to spend time on, not with the people waiting on him. He could handle the danger… probably… but his freedom wasn’t optional.

_ And what the hell is an Arbiter? _

“That’s  _ sincerely  _ the best you can do? Five entire years?”

“I -- I’m afraid so.”

Ganondorf turned to Link, who looked about as ready to throttle him as the Ministry-man.

“Any objections, Link?”

Link almost started on a tirade of insults, but swallowed it down.

“I've got conditions.”

The prince smiled, while the official looked about ready to pass out from sheer exasperation.

“Name them, then.”

“Have some kids I take care of. Three of them. No parents, just me. I want them taken care of. Fed, housed, schooled.”

“I--it’s done! We can take care of any Hylian, orphan or--”

“One common, one Hylian, one Vulfen.”

The official nearly objected but Link’s death glared drove a lance straight through his prejudice.

“...Well, we can make exceptions, f-for provincial relations’ sake…”

Link paused, sighed, and lay back down. Ganondorf gave a cheeky grin and pounded a fist on his own bare chest.

“It’s sealed, then! Hah. And to make sure you keep up your end of the bargain, consider me conscripted too.”

“Wh-what?!”

“Well, I can’t have you go and dispose of my savior as soon as my back’s turned. I know you book-keeping types. I owe this man -- Link -- my  _ life,  _ and I intend to repay that debt.”

Link blinked in surprise at Ganondorf, but didn’t object. It was the prince’s decision, not his, and while he may have thought it was  _ idiotic,  _ he respected the conviction.

"But -- but -- I don't understand, sir! Why would you -- why don't you just go home?! What in the  _ goddesses'  _ name are you doing out here, acting like some common thief?! What is out there in the streets that your servants and wealth can't give you!"

Ganondorf gave the official a small smile with no mirth.

"None of your damn business. You sign us up together or you get exposed."

"B-b-b-but--!"

"S'done, sir."

One final time, Sir Edmar whipped around to face his accompanying copper.

"What do you mean, it's do-"

"S' _ done.  _ You've been played. Prince has ya by the bullocks, so comply, because yer outta options, methinks."

"...Damn it  _ all…  _ Fine! I need a damn drink. Take your pet mutt and his brats and hand them the armory if you want, Prince Ganondorf. I… I have paperwork to do."

"Pleasure doing business, quillpusher. Anything left to say, Link?"

Link sighed in response to the prince, almost as defeated as the official, and scratched the back of his hand before speaking a few more words.

"...No. No breakout now, too many eyes on me."

"Wonderful! I believe our affairs are in order, officer?"

The Gendarmerie officer scoffed and nodded, seemingly impressed more than anything else. 

"That's consent, then. Best'a luck with the papers, your  _ honorable _ Sir Edmar."

"...Ugh. Louts, all of you..."

The official couldn't leave the room fast enough, but the officer remained for a moment longer, giving a big laugh as he was left alone with the pair.

"Guess we're gonna be coworkers, then! GAHAHA! Frankly, I don't give a damn whether ya killed anyone'r not, mutt. You oughta be free just for havin' the stones to fight a monster like that damn knight thing."

Link glared back at him. Ganondorf almost said something in response, but the thief spoke first.

"Piss off."

"Heh heh… sir, yes, sir."

The officer's laughter echoed down the hall as he left the two behind, not bothering to lock the door this time.

Ganondorf waited for silence before giving Link a frustratingly genuine grin.

"You're stuck with me now, friend. Lucky you!"

"You can piss off too."

Ganondorf dropped his smile for a flat but still vaguely positive expression.

"Heh… Leave the diplomacy to me, I think. You're pretty awful at it. "

"Tch…"

"We've got five years to figure out how to cover each other's weaknesses, don't worry. We'll hammer out the dents."

Link laid in silence while Ganondorf began to muse on the high adventures that might await them, pondering the mark on the prince's hand all the while.

Something about it and the ache on the back of his own hand gave him a strange feeling of deja vu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lil' Gan sure is a clever little bastard, ain't he? Link, meanwhile, is struggling to put together any thoughts other than "ouch" and "fuck this."
> 
> Thanks as always for reading, see y'all next chapter.


End file.
